Romance Royale
by whitenightshadows
Summary: Kurt, fourth in line for the throne of the Empire, must watch his behavior at all times. However, this becomes an almost impossible task as he meets the rich, but clueless Blaine Anderson, with whom he quickly falls in love. But how can they find their place in the rigid society that is the 1890s' London? Royal!Kurt, aristocrat!Blaine. Co-created with theevilqueen
1. Chapter 1

**Romance Royale**

**Authors' Note: First of all, this fanfiction was co-created with the ever so brilliant theevilqueen, we just decided to post it under my account, but I encourage you to visit hers as well.**

**Disclaimer: So I researched this and in theory we're allowed to post fanfictions about deceased historical figures, nevertheless… we're a bit paranoid, so: we don't own the British royal family! Or Glee either. (Sounds pretty lame after that, right?) And besides, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**

**Chapter 1**

Kurt heard muffled chattering seep out of one of the bedrooms in the right wing as he made his way to the dining room. It was quite late for the maids to be making up the beds at this hour, but Kurt knew very well morning routine was always interrupted, so he thought nothing of it. As he was passing the open door, however, he was stopped by a well-known name escaping one of the maids' lips.

"…imagine Oscar Wilde sitting in the dock?" Kurt came to a halt immediately; he was well aware of what the world-famous writer was accused of. The whispering continued, "They say his trial will be in May, in two weeks!"

Kurt could hear a quiet gasp before the other maid asked, "Will he admit to it, though? Do… erm… do you reckon he really is…" the conversation was hardly audible now. "…a troubled soul, honest?" He felt his heart clench at that and, to chase the feeling away, he resumed walking, although he was sure he wouldn't be having any breakfast today. Not anymore.

Kurt tried to compose himself as he strolled down the wide corridors of Buckingham Palace, attempting not to think about the author in question. However, this quickly proved to be an impossible task as articles and whispered gossips flooded his mind; all of a sudden, he was remembering that sunny, very mild-weathered day in April when he first learned about the arrest and the charges.

He was taking a walk near the Palace when a shabby little boy's yells caught his attention. The young vendor was announcing for the whole city to hear that the celebrated playwright, Oscar Wilde had been arrested for 'gross indecency with other men' and his trial would be held as soon as possible. Kurt cringed at the accusations then; witnessing a boy shouting how wrong such preferences were, how giving in to an unexplainable and, dare Kurt say it, natural urge was disgraceful upset him greatly. He didn't feel ashamed because he himself was also afflicted with such twisted desires, no; he was about to be sick because something so private, so delicate an issue was soiled, dragged through the mud by an unsuspecting, benighted boy. Kurt shuddered as, by then, he already knew himself enough to admit he felt no attraction to women, and it terrified him that it could just as easily have been his preferences that were exposed and ridiculed.

The thought that he was, perhaps, different from his peers (other than in his title, of course) first occurred to him when he was still a small child. He overheard his brothers talk about girls; Albert, the older, was describing to his protégé, George, how splendid it felt to touch a girl's soft skin, to explore her curves with his hands, to hold that fragile, vulnerable creature close. Kurt was very young then, not more than ten years old, but he was sure he'd never experience the same excitement that lit up George's face. He was completely indifferent to the imaginary scene. In a few years he came to realise his imagination painted a firm, strong body next to his own when he craved physical affection. No softness, no curves, no round bosoms. When he closed his eyes, he saw muscles and flat chests and felt a weight equal to his own.

He never managed to understand why everyone else seemed to prefer the other gender, why they willingly took up the role of strong and weak, of domineering and dominated? Wasn't it far better to have equals in encounters? Wasn't it more comfortable to face... parts that he already knew, that he himself possessed, when it came to that?

To his utter relief, he's never once spoken of his desires, though, not even when he was an adolescent. Now, at the age of twenty, he suspected he'd only restrained himself since he could see no other example of such orientations; he'd only ever seen man and woman together, so he instinctively understood that this was what society deemed acceptable. And that realization raised doubts in him as he was growing up; was his soul twisted? Would he have to suffer because of his nature for all eternity?

But those doubts were all chased away when listening to his grandmother's stories about her late husband. Granny could always lift his spirits by telling him time and time again how love could overcome every obstacle, how it was an unstoppable force and how it was worth fighting for. Therefore Kurt, who, unlike his siblings, paid very close attention to his Granny's anecdotes and the sentiments they conveyed, was brought up to believe that love could never be wrong or despicable. He was certain he wouldn't have learned to accept himself if not for his grandmother, and for that he'd be in her debt forever, for he could tolerate the lifelong hiding, but not the constant self-loathing.

Because of that debt, he always tried to be respectful, affectionate and honest with his grandmother. It was a tiresome duty sometimes, for the tenacious queen's demands weren't always easily satisfied, but Kurt tried his best to show the unconditional love and gratitude he felt for her. Every now and then his family would raise an eyebrow at his desperate attempts to please Granny, doubting the honesty of his actions, but the queen could somehow sense there was something deeper, something very serious about his behaviour, and always welcomed his approaches.

And that was why in the beginning of April, on his twentieth birthday, Kurt had confessed everything to his grandmother. He could no longer bear to keep such a heavy secret from her and could not be content with his life without her acceptance. So he took a risk and explained to her what he was. He used the term 'homosexual' (even though it was a brand-new expression, created only a few years before his birth) and was proud to do so. He felt the mere word showed how loving men was not a crime, for unlike the words sodomy, indecency or abomination, homosexuality was not the least bit pejorative.

Words could not describe his relief, his immense joy, when his grandmother did not turn away from him in disgust. She merely understood, accepted and reassured. Kurt couldn't wrap his head around the fact that instead of rejecting him, Granny would advise him to be excessively careful, but not deny his feelings. He'd never felt lighter than on that birthday.

That was why, only two weeks after his confession, it had shocked him to the core to hear of Oscar Wilde's arrest. The playwright was an acquaintance of his, actually. Kurt admired his work ever since he had been considered old enough to attend his stagings, and once requested to meet him in person. While they never became close friends, Kurt appreciated his keen sense of humour, along with his perceptive, witty remarks, therefore he made sure never to miss his plays.

He sat down to breakfast with a heavy sigh. He had tried to use his influence to get the playwright out of confinement, but all his efforts were in vain, and the only result he had achieved was that his father interrogated him about why this business would trouble him to such an extent. He was forced to paint his friendship with the artist remarkably stronger than how it actually was, but had no fear in doing so, for he was certain his father would never even admit the fact his son was acquainted with the scandalous man, much less promote the intimacy of their friendship. Nevertheless, Kurt felt useless and wondered what his title, the Duke of Gloucester, was worth if he wasn't even capable of rescuing an allegedly close friend from spending years in prison.

Even though Kurt was only the fourth in line for the throne of the Empire, he sometimes hoped he could become King and change people's views on homosexuality. That did not mean, of course, that he wished for his brother's or his nephew's death, for he was fond of both George and young Edward, but he was also very familiar with his brother's opinion of men loving men and feared he would teach his son the same beliefs. It annoyed Kurt that neither his father, Edward, nor his brother, George recognised the signs of a changing world, and would not alter their conservative views.

To be honest, Kurt had contemplated what ruling the Empire would be like. The idea that he might once become King occurred to him when his eldest brother, Albert had died. Then, he thought about the responsibility, the endless list of duties and the obligation to marry a woman and these were factors that immediately frightened him off. However, later the idea of possessing actual power found its way back into his head. He realised he could use his influence to change the way people's minds worked, to set an example by being open and accepting. He imagined inviting a black man to court, having him share the same privileges as the aristocrats. He had to suppress a smile at the thought of the nobles' indignant expressions.

Kurt sighed again as he remembered his past fantasies. He had long since accepted people were almost impossible to change and that the Empire was not America. That is not to say he considered America equal to Paradise, but he held the continent in high regard. There, a man called Du Bois has just graduated from Harvard, even though he was of African origin. If the people of America managed to put their former prejudices behind and award a doctorate to a descendant of a slave, why was Britain so far behind in the act of tolerance?

Such a train of thought was most certainly not fit for breakfast, so Kurt quietly excused himself and headed back to his suite to get ready for his journey to Cambridge. He was still hours early for the ball, but first he had to head to Bayswater to the Pierce house, for he was taking the heiress, Miss Brittany Pierce with him. Miss Pierce was the only daughter of an American millionaire, who founded the New York Bank Note Company in 1877. In eighteen years it had transformed into a huge, blooming business, and it was all the merit of the company's president, Mr. Pierce. They had moved to London two months ago, and since then Kurt, although without any real intention of marrying Miss Pierce, had entered into courtship with her. He would not have done this, of course, had he not known that Miss Pierce was neither allowed, nor willing to marry, but she herself was the one who made it very clear to Kurt that marriage was out of the question. Kurt was astonished to hear her straightforward and inflexible declaration of wanting to lead a maiden's life at present (refusing the future advances of a member of the royal family, even), but composed himself quickly enough to make a proposition; he asked Miss Pierce to let him court her, take her to balls, show her London, even though they both knew they would be spending time only as friends, but meanwhile ridding Kurt of the undesirable duty of having to find an actual fiancée. Miss Pierce told Kurt she'd like to become his friend (she was, as it later turned out, a very sweet, but rather simple girl) and they assured Mr. Pierce that nothing worrying would happen between the two of them, so he gave his consent to their friendship. In the last two months, Kurt had taken Miss Pierce to the theatre, to the Opera and went strolling with her quite often, so it was to no one's surprise that he would take her to the May Ball as well.

Sometimes, Kurt felt ashamed of himself for using the innocent girl, as he only singled her out since he was convinced his parents would never allow him to marry an American bankman's daughter, but he found comfort in the thought that Miss Pierce did not expect him to ask for her hand. At other times his conscience remained silent – at times such as this, for instance, when he was forced to sit for hours in a not exceptionally furnished parlour, engage in small talk with people who could hold but very little claim for his interest, wait for a girl he did not love with a passion to take her to an event that sounded dull on the invitation card already. At evenings like this, although he knew he had no right to, Kurt felt rather sorry for himself.

Later, in the carriage, he attempted to conjure up some sort of enthusiasm, but was not successful. He didn't wish to attend the May Ball of Cambridge, a traditional ceremony held in one of the colleges' gardens before the year-end exams. It struck Kurt as odd why anyone would want to celebrate anything before their exams, but decided to attend the event nonetheless. He didn't really understand why he had been invited, either, for he had never attended the school himself, but had a faint suspicion that the Vice-Chancellor intended the future graduates to find an influential friend in him. While that was uncomfortably close to being outright taken advantage of, Kurt wasn't enough of a man of principle to turn down a chance to meet young, sensible men who regularly exercised sports. As images of these young students flashed into his mind, Kurt reminded himself that the night was very young yet, and he ought not to indulge in self-pity, for he had the chance to meet someone quite interesting here.

The ball wasn't as terrible as he had anticipated it in the morning. He had been introduced to many bright and sophisticated gentlemen, danced with beautiful, accomplished ladies, but he lacked a warmer contact. He kept returning to Miss Pierce, for she was the only one who was willing to talk to him about topics other than the weather and the merits of outdoor sports. He longed for a less formal, less empty conversation, and as he was thus occupied with his thoughts, he hardly paid attention when he was introduced to the next gentlemen.

"...William Edward Kurt, the Duke of Gloucester, second grandson of our Queen Victoria. Your Royal Highness, may I present Blaine Anderson, the youngest son of the Earl of Yarborough, and also the future owner of the company Anderson and Sons."

After the obligatory bow, Kurt was met with a very handsome young man, who also happened to possess a very open gaze and a very warm smile. He decided not to move on to the next student until he learned more about the intriguing boy. He quickly came up with a question, "So, Mr. Anderson, are you to graduate this year?"

Mr. Anderson smiled widely, "That is my intention, Your Highness, although I'm afraid I still need a considerable amount of time to properly prepare for my exams."

"Why, then, are you wasting your time socialising at a ball? If your books are calling for you, you mustn't refuse, otherwise they'll cause a commotion," Kurt remarked.

To his surprise, Mr. Anderson seemed distressed that the other man would suspect he didn't wish to converse with him and it occurred to Kurt that the boy probably wasn't familiar with the manner of speaking in high circles. That was astonishing, for his father was the Earl of Yarborough, therefore he should have known he was expected to declare that spending time at the ball was far more enjoyable than studying, but then again, Kurt guessed, he had spent years in Cambridge, far from his home, surrounded only by loud young men who weren't forced to fill the enormous holes of their meaningless lives with empty compliments, irony and sarcasm. His suspicions about Mr. Anderson's naïveté were confirmed by his response. "I-I apologise, sir, I did not mean that you... that I wasn't...I- I'm sorry, sir," he sputtered.

That was quite an endearing attempt, so Kurt tried not to laugh at him, but he could not resist a smile. "Please, Mr. Anderson, don't be so alarmed, for I'm only teasing you," the young man looked flabbergasted, yet hopeful and Kurt wondered how he had managed to preserve his innocence, when he had to be at least twenty-one years old. Although he himself had celebrated his twentieth birthday only weeks ago, the angels' magic dust of purity and illusions had long since worn off of him. It stunned him that such openness still existed. "But now that you're indeed here, you must tell me about your exams, your favourite subjects," he smiled and gestured in the direction of the flower garden to propose a walk as he went on, "the shocking and scandalous stories about your teachers."

Mr. Anderson seemed very glad at Kurt's friendly manner and started walking with him in the garden without any trace of reluctance. "I'm afraid, sir, I haven't heard any whispers about my professors..." he paused, "but I suppose I could tell you about their lectures."

"I'd like that very much," assured Kurt, and thus they began discussing lessons, exams and ways to study. However, Kurt was eager to learn more about Mr. Anderson himself, so when the other man mentioned that his brother never envied him for attending Cambridge, he quickly cut in, "You have a brother? The future Earl, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, Cooper is my only sibling, my elder brother and best friend, as pathetic as that sounds," Kurt merely waved off this comment, indicating this was not pitiable at all. "We've always been very close, but he cannot understand why I bother studying, for he abhors sitting still and reading. He prefers hunting and riding a horse and wandering in Lincolnshire."

Noticing the fond smile on Mr. Anderson's face, Kurt was certain the brothers were indeed good friends and he had to restrain himself from reaching out and squeezing the boy's arm. "It must have been difficult to be separated from him while you were studying here."

Mr. Anderson's expression changed to rueful as he answered, "It was worse, actually, when I was at Eton, sir."

Kurt, desperately wanting to cheer his newfound friend up, decided to lighten the mood as best as he could. "First Eton, then Cambridge? I can't help but doubt your intimacy with your brother, kind sir, if you had not seen him in the last eight, or so, years. Could you even recognise him after so many years spent apart?"

Mr. Anderson let out a quiet chuckle. "I have seen him during the time of my education," he said and looked around, noticing they were once again at the entrance of the park, where the music of the ball could be heard. "I invited him here, to tell the truth, along with his fiancée, and I'll gladly introduce them to you, sir, if you wouldn't object to meeting them."

Kurt smiled widely, "Oh, I don't object at all. I'd be honoured to meet your family, Mr. Anderson."

In the ballroom, they easily found the older Mr. Anderson and the introductions were quickly made. At the older brother's inquiry, Kurt explained he had arrived in the company of Miss Pierce, who found a few of her friends here and joined their company, not willing to take part in the introductions she knew her escort would be facing. When Mr. Blaine Anderson pointed out he must have been miserable after being thus abandoned, Kurt assured him he wouldn't have liked to be responsible for a lady's weariness at a ball, so, perhaps, it was all for the best. Mr. Cooper Anderson readily agreed and jokingly added that he also thrived to ensure his fiancée's enjoyment, and therefore, asked her to dance with him at once.

When they were alone again, Kurt plucked up all his courage and, though dreading the answer, asked, "What are your plans for the summer, after your graduation?"

Mr. Anderson seemed quite nonchalant, as if it never crossed his mind that his response might either tramp down or water a budding friendship. "We're planning to spend the whole season in London, sir, only to return to Immingham, that's where our estate is, for Cooper's wedding in December."

This reply, accompanied by an earnest smile, caused Kurt to feel rather lightheaded, so he hardly knew what he was saying as he posed the next question, "A winter wedding? How unusual, and yet how romantic!"

Apparently Mr. Anderson shared his merry mood, for his eyes were full of laughter. "I would be very surprised if it really were a winter wedding, sir, because I know my family's usual speed when events must be organized. Be it a party, an exhibition or a picnic, they don't like to rush, so I'm expecting the ceremony to be held in late-January," they shared a smile at that. "At least definitely not before New Year's."

Kurt realised what he was required to do at that moment; Mr. Anderson could not seek his friendship, for even though he was an aristocrat, he was not part of a royal family, therefore it was Kurt's task to offer it. The knowledge that Mr. Anderson would not bring up meeting in London since common sense did not allow him to made Kurt no less vexed, and he quietly exhaled in an attempt to calm his nerves as he, once again, began to talk. "As you might know, I live in Buckingham Palace and seeing as you'll be in Town, we could easily arrange a meeting." The thought struck him that he ought not to be too vague on this matter, so he added, "Go for a walk, watch a play, read the books that your brother absolutely refuses to open..." he trailed off.

All his worries were soothed, however, at the sight of the relief that lit up the other man's face. "I'd be looking forward to that very much, sir."

After that, they were forced to bid each other goodnight, for the ball was coming to an end and Miss Pierce was eager to get home. Kurt wished Mr. Anderson the best of luck and suggested that after graduation, when the young man had arrived in London, he should leave his card in the Palace, so Kurt would know when he could call on him in his London home. This idea pleased them both and Mr. Anderson promised to drop by as soon as he was quite settled down in the city.

As Kurt climbed into the carriage after Miss Pierce, he was certain his visit here was worth the effort, even though he spent only a few hours at the ball itself and had not danced nearly as much as the custom dictated. Nevertheless, he couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed an evening half as much as this one, and already felt a tingling in his limbs as he imagined what it would, no, what it will be like to read Mr. Anderson's name on a small white card at the breakfast table.

**Authors' Note: If there were any mistakes (grammatical or historical), we're sorry and we'd like to make it clear now that none of us are English (or two hundred years old) and while we did do some research, it was by no means extremely thorough, so there's always a chance that someone will find mistakes. In that case, feel free to point them out and we'll try to correct them.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: We don't own Glee or the British Royal family. Can't stress that enough.**

**Chapter 2**

Blaine was beyond nervous as he approached the front door of Buckingham Palace. He regretted bitterly that he had agreed to the Duke's plan, for it meant he had to enter the home of the royal family alone and unannounced. He hoped the young Duke had mentioned to the butler that a Mr. Anderson might leave his card at some point in the following month, for he feared he would be thrown out for the insolence otherwise.

He scolded himself as he rang the doorbell; he had been, after all, introduced at court, so he really shouldn't be terrified of leaving his card, especially when he was expected to do so. He straightened his coat as the door slowly opened and received the butler's greetings. Not having to look a member of the royal family in the eye calmed his nerves tremendously, and he was able to instruct the butler to give his card to _His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester_ when he came down to breakfast. He left before anyone other than the servants could spot him.

That afternoon he was scanning the Times (he had been too fidgety to read it in the morning) as the Duke of Gloucester was suddenly announced. Both his father and Cooper, who were just discussing the possibility of certain improvements in the garden of Brocklesby House, stopped mid-sentence and stared at Blaine. He, of course, had informed his father that he had made the young man's acquaintance, but not in his wildest dreams did he imagine that his call would be returned the same day it had taken place. He was glad, however, that the Duke appeared just as eager to maintain their friendship as he himself felt.

When the Duke stepped inside, both Blaine and Cooper shook his hand and Blaine found himself wondering how his brother could be so daring; after all, Cooper had talked to the young man for merely five minutes, and yet he was comfortable enough to shake his hand and ask him about his and his family's health, while Blaine could hardly hold the Duke's gaze and was convinced that his sudden shyness was perfectly justified given the circumstances.

Shortly after their father had been introduced to the Duke, all of them sensed they had run out of polite inquiries and the tension only eased when Cooper proposed a walk in St James's Park, to which both Blaine and the Duke readily agreed. While they were strolling, Blaine explained the history of their family, which supposedly dated back to the fifteenth century, though he expressed his doubts on the credibility of the subject.

"Still, it is admirable that you have any sort of ancestry, Mr. Anderson, be it real or fake," replied the Duke with a smile. "But what interests me most is your father's company – Anderson and Sons?"

Blaine's face lit up instantly; the company was his passion and the prospect of managing it once was a constant source of pleasure for him. "Oh, yes, sir, Anderson and Sons. It was founded by our grandfather," he nodded to Cooper, who didn't seem particularly interested in the topic, choosing to search for familiar faces in the park instead, "after the steam locomotive was patented. He invested in the invention and established a factory which produced wagons, tracks, engines and other components. It has expanded since then, of course, and now the company busies itself with planning and building new routes as well."

At that Cooper turned his head back to the pair and added with a wide smile, "Don't be modest, old chap, tell us about the new department as well. In detail."

Embarrassed by Cooper's blatant demand (and, quite frankly, by his impolite behaviour altogether), Blaine felt his face heat up. Nevertheless, at the sight of the Duke's raised eyebrow he began to mumble, "There's a new department in the company which is dedicated to electricity. We inspect, manufacture and invent machinery using electricity, but this wing is still quite new, so we have a lot of work ahead of us before we'll gain any profit." When Blaine noticed the other man was genuinely interested in his speech, he carried on talking more confidently, "The company is very set in its old ways; for decades it concentrated only on trains and heavy machinery, but I believe electricity is the future and that's why the new department is necessary. I'm very eager to start working there, but I still have to learn how the funding and financing works, so I can't begin just yet. I like to visit the factory in London, though, to make myself feel somewhat useful."

"I'm amazed, Mr. Anderson, that you would go to so much trouble for a family business. I'm sure not many would share your enthusiasm. I never knew you owned a factory in London, though. I thought all your establishments were in the country."

Blaine indeed felt very enthusiastic to discuss the topic so close to his heart. "No, sir; while most of our factories are in the northern part of England, such as Manchester and Leeds, we have one here, in the outskirts." There was a pause in the conversation and Blaine realized that a chance to spend more time with the young man has just opened up. "Would you perhaps like to visit it?"

The Duke looked hesitant for a moment, but nodded nevertheless, "Yes, thank you, I'd like that very much. Your brother," his gaze flickered to Cooper, who was walking a few steps ahead of them, "could accompany us." At Blaine's clueless expression he added, "I'm not to leave the Palace with strangers unsupervised. Of course you are not a stranger to me, but my family takes such matters very seriously, and I doubt they would be pleased if I disappeared alone with an unknown young man. They worry I'll mingle with inappropriate society... " he hesitated again, looking unsure. "That is not to say your company is anything less than desirable, but you see they are... concerned about my well-being," he paused for a few moments, but Blaine remained silent. "I'm sorry, I hope I have not offended you."

To be quite honest, Blaine couldn't tell whether he was supposed to be offended or not, but assured the Duke he understood and they made plans immediately. Cooper raised no objections to his coming along, but did beg them to excuse him from the tour itself. He stated he disliked the factory and would be far more comfortable waiting for them in the inspector's office. Before their small party broke up, they agreed to meet in three days' time at the Andersons' house.

On their way back to their home, Blaine often caught Cooper watching him, and while it was most unsettling, he chose not to confront him. Blaine was met with this inspecting, intense stare several times in the next few hours as well, and felt his stomach tighten whenever he remembered under what circumstances had he been subjected to it for the first time.

It had happened once when he'd come home from Eton for the summer, very upset about recent events. He attempted to hide his anxiety, but a fifteen-year-old boy cannot deceive his twenty-one-year old brother, and one day Cooper managed to catch Blaine off guard and asked him about school upfront. Blaine felt his muscles go rigid and wondered how Cooper could sense his most secret thoughts.

"What is the matter with you, old chap? Has anything unusual happened to you? Did you experience something upsetting, something that made you feel uncomfortable?" Blaine realised Cooper knew. He had to know, otherwise why would he have phrased his questions in that particular way?

While Cooper was waiting for an answer, he thought back to the beginning of the year, when he sometimes caught himself watching the other boys as they were rowing or remembered feeling an odd burning in his entire body as another student brushed past him in the hallway. Those were all innocent actions and Blaine didn't pay them any heed. He simply revelled in the excitement that a casual touch caused and mindlessly observed and rated how handsome the upperclassmen were. That is, he had done that until one disastrous afternoon in May.

_He was exhausted from running and had to ask his teacher to let him leave class for he was afraid he might faint from the heat. Mr. Huntington was not pleased, but instructed him to go back to his room nevertheless, lie down and drink as much water as possible. Blaine managed to totter back to his dorm room, noticing how quiet the corridors were. He tried to stay perfectly silent as to not disturb those who were still sitting in the classrooms, and that must have been the reason why, when he finally reached his room, he suddenly heard muffled sounds coming from across the corridor._

_He walked up to the door and by then he was sure he was hearing groans of agony. He hesitated, convinced that if another student was in serious pain, he would surely let a teacher know, but then a cry filled the silence and Blaine instinctively knocked and opened the door. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight._

"No, no, everything's all right, you don't need to worry."

Cooper could see Blaine gulp and refused to drop the subject, "Don't lie to me, Blaine. Has anyone hurt you? Are the others teasing you?"

Blaine was so shocked to hear Cooper's theories that he never remembered to check his words as he answered, "No, of course not, why would they? I've just seen... " he stopped immediately, but realised it was too late. Cooper was looking at him expectantly and he knew he couldn't escape recalling that afternoon. Resigning himself to his fate, he described Cooper the scene he had witnessed.

_There were two boys on the bed, on top of each other, with only their shirts on. Blaine had never engaged in... inappropriate activities himself, but there was no doubt in his mind about what he was currently seeing. The boy on top, an upperclassman, quickly tugged at the covers to hide his bare body and Blaine could hear a strange popping sound as the boys put some distance between themselves. He was rooted to his spot at the door and couldn't help but take in the sight; the ruffled hair, the discarded clothes, the smell of sweat in the air. When his mind caught up with his eyes, it occurred to him what scandalous a scene he had just borne witness to. His vision was clouded by the blood flowing to his head as he finally realised what exactly had made the popping sound. He quickly turned around, slammed the door shut and took off running to his own room._

_After he had burst into his room, he collapsed onto his bed and, from then on, he couldn't bring himself to move for hours. Though he knew what the two boys had done was strictly forbidden, he had no intention of revealing it to the faculty, for they would surely be expelled. Blaine didn't want to be responsible for the destruction of their school careers and besides, telling on your peers was the lowest sort of crime at Eton._

_He never left his room that day and pretended to be sick for another two, but he had a visitor the next morning. It was the upperclassman. He neither explained, nor denied anything, but offered Blaine a considerable amount of money for his silence. Blaine, sensing that those images were about to resurface, refused his money, but swore he wouldn't betray them and threw him out before the upperclassman could say another word._

Back then, all those years ago, Cooper complimented him for his maturity and made him renew his vow to remain silent. Blaine never dared to tell him that he hadn't been upset about the scene he had witnessed, no; he was distressed because of the thoughts that had occurred to him while he was pretending to be ill afterwards.

That disastrous night, it frightened Blaine to recall all the times he had enjoyed looking, enjoyed touching other boys at Eton. Before the upperclassman visited him, he had been contemplating his own nature and it dawned on him what sinful thoughts and dreams he had unconsciously been nurturing. Although he was certain he never would have acted upon these desires, he was still ridden with guilt and fear whenever he reminded himself that wanting to sin was a sin in itself already. Heart racing and mind reeling, he had made an oath to himself that he would never entertain such desires again, much less confess them to anyone, ever.

Still, that summer Cooper carried on watching him as if he knew everything. Blaine had never uttered a word of his true concerns to him and yet Cooper's gaze was observing, examining and analyzing his every move. He even brought the topic up a few months later and claimed he wasn't repulsed by the boys' actions. Blaine was, of course, aware that his brother had no interest in men (even though it was only in his own head, he felt like a rebel to even form such a thought), for Cooper was constantly courting beautiful girls. Nevertheless, the discussion made him uneasy; he didn't want to think about the issue at all.

"All I'm saying is, it is not our place to judge. That's why I believe you were right not to tell on them; those boys might do whatever they want, it doesn't concern us in the least," again, Cooper had that intense look in his eyes as he talked to Blaine.

"No, Cooper, it was wrong. I won't tell, we'd already agreed upon that, but that has no affect on their actions being forbidden," exclaimed Blaine, rather agitated by Cooper's implications; he refused to let himself hope he wouldn't be expected to eliminate and forget all his dark, wicked thoughts. "Remember what we were taught; a man can only ever lie with a woman, it's in the Bible, that is God's will!"

Cooper frowned. "We don't know God's will, Blaine. Priests might preach what they choose, but we are not obligated to believe everything. Think about the factory; only a century and a half ago, electricity and motorized carriages would have been pronounced the creations of the devil and now the most conservative priests would laugh at such prejudices! Who are we to call an act a sin, then, if we have been mistaken about the nature of sin so many times before?"

"Please, stop. This argument is clearly leading us nowhere, so we'd better not force it," Blaine sighed, exasperated. Usually he admired and envied his brother's carefree nature, but at times like this, he became frustrated at his brother's obvious inability to see certain issues in their full complexity.

Cooper remained silent for a while, then quietly added, "You should be educated, old chap. It really isn't as uncommon as you... "

He was interrupted by Blaine, "Good Lord, Cooper, please let us put an end to this discussion. You think..., " he paused to search for a suitable word, but manage to come up with none, "_that_ is normal and acceptable, I think it is twisted and wrong. I refuse to keep talking about this."

He watched his brother shrug. "Very well. You are entitled to your opinion," when Blaine made no reaction, he went on, "If it's any comfort to you, though, I don't even believe those boys knew what they were doing. Think about it; they are stuck without girls for months and that confuses them." Blaine raised his eyebrows, genuinely interested in Cooper's train of thought. "They have the desire to, hm, have a tumble in the hay, but because there are no girls available, they turn to each other instead. It really isn't very difficult to comprehend."

"So you think there isn't anything to it? Them thinking about other boys means nothing? It will simply... pass?"

Cooper' gaze bore into his then. "It might."

Ever since then Blaine hadn't given the issue a single thought; Cooper claimed it was a phase and Blaine knew that his brother, in his own simplistic, nonchalant way, had a surprisingly accurate grip on how the world usually worked. Not always, of course, but more often than not. For this reason Blaine managed to find reassurance; he only ever thought about boys in _that_ sense because he was surrounded by them. Not because he was... different. His relief was utter and complete. Nevertheless, from then on, he had suppressed every impure thought, not allowing himself to think about love and marriage altogether in fear of what ideas may recur upon contemplating. In Cambridge, his friends laughed at him for his disinterest in the entirety of romance, but Blaine considered his efforts a success and that was worth all the ridicule.

But now, as Cooper watched him on their way home, all those moments of initial doubt, all the unsettling, uncomfortable feelings returned and the dreaded thoughts, once again, flooded Blaine's mind.

That night Blaine lay awake in his bed, desperately trying to keep every inappropriate thought at bay. Only when he had heard the servants return to their own rooms did he dare let his mind wander. It had been very long since he'd last given love any thought, not since that horrendous summer, and it frightened him to revive his most guarded, long suppressed secrets.

He strained his memory; he remembered watching boys, remembered the thrill of being touched, but could also recall the abhorrence he had felt when stumbling upon those two boys. Surely he couldn't have felt such dread, had he the same desires as well, no! He had only been confused before. Cooper was right, it was perfectly reasonable for a young boy to let his better judgement stray, and there was no need to read anything sinister into it. Cooper had said those boys would grow out of it and Blaine, then, had felt reassured that so would he.

He closed his eyes. The crucial question was; had he grown out of it? Was he finally rid of every wicked desire? If he were, once again, to think of love, what would he find?

A bed creaked somewhere and Blaine flinched, his heart nearly jumping out. Frustrated at his own cowardice, he damned Cooper to hell. Had he not been watching him the same way as that summer, Blaine would never have been reminded of these unwelcome memories. It was clearly all Cooper's fault. How dare he ruin Blaine's outing with the Duke by making his own brother so uncomfortable?

The Duke. What was Blaine to do with him? If Cooper refused to let this issue go for good, if he wouldn't let Blaine wipe it out of his mind forever, then how could Blaine meet with the Duke again? Was the young man's company alone worth the constant discomfort Blaine would most likely have to face because of it?

There was no denying it, this was an impossible situation. However, as Blaine thought of the Duke, he felt he could never risk losing their budding friendship. The Duke was bright, open and polite. Blaine thought of his closest friends, Wesley Montgomery and David Thompson; the amateur journalists were, of course, honest, well-mannered (if slightly too direct), clever men, but, unlike the Duke, there wasn't any trace of sophistication in them. Now that Blaine knew what true refinement was, their straightforward nature seemed almost like rudeness by comparison. He couldn't deny that the Duke was clearly superior to all his other acquaintances – the fact that Blaine felt honoured whenever the Duke turned his attention to him (which he knew very well had nothing to do with the young man's title) was proof enough. Remembering the pride he had felt when the Duke declared he was interested in his family, in their company, in Blaine's own work, he realised he could never bring himself to give up their friendship, for he treasured it far too much already.

With a sigh, Blaine resigned himself to his fate. He would endure Cooper's stare and he would put all his doubts aside as long as he could continue meeting the Duke. Why would he let his brother intrude on his happiness anyway? It was silly, he ought not to pay so much attention to Cooper; let him suspect whatever he chooses, it doesn't change the fact that Blaine was perfectly average. He could only be attracted to women, for that was how it was supposed to be.

Finally seeming to find some peace of mind, Blaine allowed his exhaustion to wash over him. He was convinced this whole matter was sorted out at last and he needed not waste a second more on it. He couldn't be an abomination; it must only have been a fleeting interest. Besides, it had occurred years ago. How could a mere suspicion (that came to his mind at the age of fifteen) define him anyway? It was foolish of him to take this issue so seriously.

Nevertheless, Blaine couldn't regret his decision to isolate himself from romance for a while; it was most likely a wise idea. But now it was time to find a wife. From now on, he would be free of his shady thoughts and could finally start searching for the love of his life, meanwhile upholding and strengthening his friendship with the Duke.

As he rolled onto his side, Blaine felt his lips curl into a relieved smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors' Note: Thank you all for the alerts (and the one favourite :) ), we really appreciate them! On a different, but not unrelated note; if you feel like sharing your opinions or perceptions on the story, feel free to leave a review or PM us, we'd be honoured to hear your thoughts. Now enjoy!**

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**Chapter 3 **

"You mean miniature lightbulbs? How clever," the Duke remarked. Only a week had passed since their walk in St James's Park and yet the Duke was already taking a tour in the factory, proving to Blaine again that he was truly interested in his work. They had already visited the older department and were now observing the new one, where the Duke discovered Blaine's interest in lightbulbs.

"Yes, sir. The idea is that we decrease the size of Edison's lightbulbs and connect them through wires, which could be wrapped around the branches of a Christmas tree," Blaine could feel his excitement grow rapidly, for the electric lighting was a topic very dear to his heart. "Can you imagine celebrating the Holidays with an enormous tree in the great hall radiating light..." as the Duke's gaze flickered to his, he hurriedly added, "sir?"

The Duke smiled reassuringly and Blaine was relieved he'd let the disrespect go unmentioned. "A giant, shining, yellow tree would be rather frightening, I reckon. And a family collectively admiring it would be quite close to idolatry, wouldn't you think?" Blaine was somewhat disappointed that the Duke's sharp observations seemed never to stop; he wished the other man could share his enthusiasm. "With colourful lights, however... that would make a magnificent impression." Blaine smiled widely as he realised the Duke was envisioning the scene. "A green tree lit up by hundreds of red and golden and silver lights," his eyes were bright and sparking as he turned to Blaine, "reflecting all the joy and elation we are supposed to feel on Christmas Eve."

"But, um, we could never colour the glass, sir. The paint would simply melt."

The Duke didn't even pause to consider Blaine's reasoning and instantly replied, "You ought to use glass paint then."

Blaine realised this was no easily dismissible idea. He attempted to come up with counterarguments at once, but it was to no avail. Applying glass paint was ingenious. All of a sudden, Blaine felt his stomach tighten into a knot. "I... I wasn't aware glass paint was such a commonly known material."

As the Duke smiled at him, Blaine's onslaught of ill mood increased tenfold. "I wouldn't exactly say it was common. I'm only familiar with it by chance myself. You see, I'm very intrigued by modern sciences, especially electricity, and I have always admired such inventions as the lightbulb. While I was aspiring to widen my knowledge about it, I stumbled upon a few papers discussing the mechanics and glass paint was mentioned."

"May I ask, sir, how come the lightbulb captured your attention? Only it seems like such a small and silly invention, it surprises me that you spent any amount of time studying it."

"Oh, I was only doing it as research. I wanted to impress Mr. Edison with my knowledge when he visited London."

This time Blaine felt a clear, burning stab of jealousy. "Mr. Thomas Edison has been introduced to you? In court?"

The Duke was still seemingly unaware of Blaine's feelings as he answered with easy nonchalance, "Yes, I met him when he came to London three years ago. He was awarded the Albert Medal of the Royal Society of Arts. Wonderfully meaningless prize, if you ask me, but it lured Mr. Edison to London, so perhaps it wasn't completely useless after all." His expression changed once Blaine failed to provide a reply and, misinterpreting his friend's silence, he hastened to correct himself, "Forgive me, I... forgot myself. I didn't mean to imply the title was worthless, I merely attempted to point out that Mr. Edison's contribution to science is far too great to be ever properly valued and... could never be matched by a single medal."

Blaine felt his cheeks burn with shame; a week ago he had been determined to preserve his friendship with the Duke and yet in that moment he was so terribly envious of him he could hardly force a sentence out, "No, I... it is me who must apologise, sir. Only, I am so overwhelmed by the fact that Mr. Edison is acquainted with you, I can hardly speak," he pursed his lips, trying to form a smile. "I admire his work most dedicatedly."

The Duke remained serious as he answered, "Next time he comes to Town, I'll introduce you, Mr. Anderson, and believe me, if he values your work half as much as I do, he shall be in awe of your talent as well."

Blaine cast down his eyes in shame.

The next few days, however, were passed in silent contemplation, which only enabled Blaine to think even more about the Duke's fortunate birth and the advantages he had gained with it. He was aware, of course, that he was being unreasonable and probably rather petty, but he couldn't help but envy the young man; he wanted to be the one who had time to read about modern sciences, who could start studying a subject on a whim, who was introduced to Thomas Edison_ 'since the man was staying in London anyway'!_ And most important of all, he wanted to be the one who had thought of coloured glass.

That was what distressed Blaine the most; the Christmas lights. He had had but little time for inventions while studying at Cambridge, but in spite of that he was still developing and controlling the electric department and he considered the miniature lightbulbs one of his most fortunate ideas. He was convinced they would become wildly used eventually, for who wouldn't want to decorate their Christmas tree with light? It was almost ridiculous he hadn't thought of it years before and now... now half the idea belonged to the Duke. There was no denying it, red and golden lights (perhaps even a sprinkle of blue) would create a much better effect than simple whitish-yellow spots. Blaine felt like an imbecile not to have thought of that himself, alas it was too late; he'd have to use glass paint now and the company would produce colourful lightbulbs and for the rest of his life he would be left feeling like the useless amateur he was.

Hence Blaine was conflicted all summer; he was torn between jealousy, self-pity and guilt. The jealousy occurred whenever he recalled that tour of the factory, especially the Duke's quick and practical ideas. The self-pity when he was alone and spent his time mentally punishing himself for not being a capable inventor, and he felt guilty whenever he was actually in the company of the Duke for nursing these ungrateful, selfish feelings. Too indulged in his inner turmoil, Blaine never noticed how the summer passed him by and only when his father reminded him, did he suddenly remember his brother's birthday.

The advance of this particular occasion, however, was enough to wake him up. It had been easy to let things take their natural course as he took walks with the Duke, or, every now and then, they spent the night talking with each other during a party, but Cooper's birthday could never be treated with the same casual air as their other outings. Blaine knew it was high time he made up his mind about his own feelings, for he either forgave the Duke for meddling in his work or he'd better forget about him completely, as their friendship couldn't be overshadowed by Blaine's jealousy anymore. Eventually, he came to a decision; he would invite the Duke to their family dinner (no doubt Cooper will be delighted to have the Duke of Gloucester attend his birthday party) and settle the matter once and for all. Blaine was convinced he would be able to weigh all arguments best when he was surrounded by his family; if he felt as strongly for the Duke as he did for most of his family, then he would have to let his vanity go. However, if, come the end of the night, he still couldn't forgive the Duke for his interference, then he would move back to Immingham and put an end to their acquaintanceship. No more contemplation, no more hurt pride.

A week later the Duke was sitting down in the Anderson family's dining room next to Blaine and opposite Lord and Lady Yarborough. As the guest of honour, he was sitting to Cooper's right, who appeared to be quite dissatisfied with the sitting arrangement, for he had no opportunity to converse with his fiancée (who was seated next to Lady Yarborough) from the head of the table. "This is a lovely dining hall, Lady Yarborough, and exceptionally well furnished. I can't remember the last time I have seen such an elegant room," the Duke said, turning to Blaine's mother.

Lady Yarborough blushed (she had been introduced to the Duke only moments ago) as she replied, "Oh, it's nothing, Your Highness. This flat is very small and cannot even be compared to the one we have at Brocklesby House. The hall there is at least twice the size of this room and the carpets are considerably richer." She smiled as she went on, "Here we only have decoration, in Immingham we have grandeur."

Blaine, though slightly uncomfortable by his mother's unconcealed pride, was glad the Duke approved of their London home.

"Oh, yes, Brocklesby House is a most wonderful estate and dear Cooper is very lucky to inherit it one day," came a voice form the other side of the table. Blaine recognised the speaker as his Aunt Winifred and a lump formed in his throat instantly. He had always disliked Aunt Winifred, not because she was poor, but because she was uneducated and Blaine worried she would act in an impolite manner. "He's such a dashing young man, isn't he, Your Highness? And Blaine is turning out to be a very fine gentleman, too. If only he were a soldier or a politician, not a manager of a company. He could have made an excellent career in the army, wouldn't you think so, sir?"

Blaine was utterly mortified, but the Duke smiled earnestly. "I don't doubt it for a second. Nevertheless, I think you have a wonderful family, madam, as it is. And it's admirable how your whole family is here on this joyous occasion to celebrate with your nephew. It is quite uncommon, I believe, for the family members to be this close to each other," he replied. Blaine looked at him from the corner of his eyes**, **relieved thatthe Duke didn't seem put out by his aunt's forwardness.

Aunt Winfred, however, was seemingly intent on ruining the evening. "Why, Your Highness, our family has always been the kind that stuck together through thick and thin. Has Blaine ever mentioned his grandfather to you, sir? You see he..." and thus began a half an hour long explanation about the late Mr. Anderson. Every now and then Blaine would glance at the young man next to him, who was nodding and asking questions with an interested expression, which only intensified Blaine's distress. He couldn't believe he was (albeit indirectly) subjecting the Duke of Gloucester to dull, fabricated tales of Blaine's ancestors.

Fortunately, before the Duke could become familiar with the entire family history, the ladies decided to go through, leaving the gentlemen to discuss topics less suited for a woman's ears. At the very moment Blaine breathed a sigh of relief, he noticed his father was talking politics with Cooper. "...War is war and if Germany can't learn to control itself, it would only be best to show them how far behind they are compared to Her Majesty's army," he nodded to the Duke.

Blaine, trying to spare his family any further humiliation, turned to the Duke and addressed him in a hushed voice, "Forgive my father for bringing up such grave topics, sir, he doesn't know how to keep a conversation light, I'm afraid. As for me, I'd much rather discuss theatre... Have you heard the Globe's opening night is in two weeks?" Blaine knew it was a clumsy attempt at striking up a conversation, but the Duke's face brightened nevertheless.

"I cannot wait for the autumn programme, I do love the theatre so deeply," he exclaimed. "Be it Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde or Verdi, I enjoy them all. There is something entrancing about the concept of theatre, wouldn't you think? All that planning, creating and rehearsing for but a few seconds of applause."

"I think the ovation is wor..." he was about respond, but was interrupted by the abrupt raise in his father's voice.

"But what are we doing here, gentlemen? The ladies are waiting for us. Let us join them, so my son can be reunited with his fiancée. I wouldn't deny him the pleasure of her company any longer on such a happy day. Let us go, gentlemen, let us go."

As they left the dining room, Blaine was separated from the Duke and could only watch in horror as his mother and aunts insisted he play lottery with them. Lottery! Of all the card games they picked the one that required no intelligence, no concentration, only luck. Blaine was certain his friend could never enjoy such a simple game, but he had no chance to interfere now; the Duke was stuck. Oh, how Blaine wished for this evening to end.

Three hours and about ten rounds of games later, it did. Blaine didn't know how to look the Duke in the eye; the other man had had probably the most tedious night behind him, all because of Blaine. All of Blaine's former worries and scruples regarding his friend's tampering with his work were long forgotten – he only wanted the young man to forgive him for this evening and not to run away the second the doors closed behind him.

As Blaine accompanied him to the front door, he stopped the Duke and gathered all his courage to apologise, "I-I, um... "

The Duke cut in, "I planned to wish your brother a happy birthday again; could you give him my regards when you return? Along with my apologies, of course, for not doing so in person, but the carriage has already arrived and I really must go."

Blaine felt discouraged by the Duke's hurry to depart, although he couldn't blame him. "Yes, I... of course. I think, no, I _know_ he was very honoured by your presence, sir."

They stood silently for a few moments, then started to speak in unison,

"Well, thank you for the lovely evening, but I..."

"I'm so very sorry about tonight... "

They both paused. "Please, go ahead, sir."

"I only wanted to express my gratitude to you again for inviting me tonight. I'm honoured to have been included in your family celebration, Mr. Anderson. I hope I'll have the pleasure of your family's company again," the Duke smiled, although it was ever so slightly strained.

Blaine, suddenly thrown off balance, cleared his throat, "Er, yes, of course. I'm very glad you enjoyed this evening. My family and I are..." he trailed off. He didn't want this barrier to stand between them; he had had enough of being closed off in the summer. _Courage, Blaine_. "Please, sir, I... could we not pretend...?" he knew he was becoming too agitated and he tried to calm his nerves, hoping for more coherency. "What I mean is, this was a terrible evening, even for me, and I can't apologise enough for forcing you to go through that."

When he looked up, he could see the Duke was watching him with an amused expression. "I assure you, Mr. Anderson, this wasn't a traumatic experience at all. Truth be told, I shall never wish to relive tonight again, I'm deeply sorry to say that, but I had attended much more disappointing parties before," they were smiling at each other now and Blaine had never felt so light. "For years I have been compelled to endure many tedious gatherings out of sheer duty, where no words other than that of politics and war were uttered, so rest assured, my dear sir, that I have no ill feelings toward you or your family."

"If that is the case, then I'm very glad, sir," Blaine answered, relieved, when abruptly he realised he was, yet again, talking nonsense. "Not that you had dull evenings before," he continued, face beet-red from embarrassment, "I'm just happy you don't resent me for, well, for today."

"No, not at all," the Duke assured him, still smiling. "We are friends now. Had this evening lasted three times as long, I still could not bring myself to resent you. I'm looking forward to our next meeting already."

His kind words did nothing to soothe Blaine's anxiety. "So do I, sir, nevertheless... I'm afraid my family has been quite," he finished the sentence in a hushed tone, "tactless at times."

The Duke seemed completely unfazed. "I have seen men behave indelicately before, Mr. Anderson, and I could hardly judge anyone for not concealing their true opinions in their own home. In fact, my family is not so different from yours," he looked around feigning suspicion, then whispered conspiratorially, "You should have seen the celebration of my nephew's birth last summer. The first great-grandson in the royal family. My brother drank so much that day I doubt he even remembered what we had been celebrating when he finally woke up. At tea-time the next day, might I add."

They both chuckled quietly, although it crossed Blaine's mind if it was prudent of the Duke to share that particular piece of information with an outsider. Chasing the distracting thought away, he began to talk again, "Still, sir, I would like to make amends," he ignored the Duke's dismissive flick of the hand, "I have two journalist friends, both of whom possesses an extremely accurate knowledge of affairs in Town and they have informed me that there will be a production of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ this autumn and I was wondering if you'd allow me to accompany you to a performance."

The Duke looked rather stunned. "Why, it... of course, it would be my pleasure," despite the affirmative answer, Blaine still found himself biting his lip at the sight of his friend's apparent shock. "We would have to go alone, though, for I'm certain my father would never let me watch another play by Oscar Wilde again, not since his imprisonment," his surprise seemingly wearing off, he stepped closer to Blaine and carried on talking with curiosity (and ever so little awe) colouring his voice, "But how could there even be a performance? And how do you...that is... I watched the premier in February! It was such a hilarious piece I've wanted to see it again, only... after the trial I was under the impression that the play closed."

"It did close, but apparently, a new rendition is being conducted. I know little of the details, I must admit, but, sir," he hesitated for a split second, "it is perhaps not a disadvantage that you are not planning to tell your father, since from what I heard... well, I'm told the locale of the performance is no Theatre Royal. Maybe it would be best if you... arrived on foot."

The Duke blinked at him. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, am I to understand you are asking me to disguise myself as we attend some cheap, underground and most likely illegal production of a play that was deemed trivial by many and was written by a man whose scandals are known all around Europe?"

"I suppose," Blaine stammered out, blushing furiously, "yes, sir, although it is really more like a suggestion-"

He stopped as soon as he noticed the Duke's feverish excitement. "My goodness, this is a marvellous idea, Mr. Anderson; I can't wait to go. You must ask your friends to purchase tickets for you, then, we may dress up as a couple of drunkard university students and visit this theatre of yours _in cognito_," the young man grinned widely and Blaine couldn't help but share his enthusiasm. "I promise not to wear my top-hat."

"And I'll have the tickets ready by next week, sir."

The Duke's expression suddenly turned pensive. "Mr. Anderson," he paused, looking the other man straight in the eye, "now that we are undoubtedly good friends and... have secrets to share with one another, I would be very much obliged if you stopped addressing me as _sir_ or _Your Highness_ and used my given name instead," Blaine just stared at him, completely at a loss for words, but fortunately the other man went on, "I know, of course, that we haven't known each other for long, but quite frankly I'm unnerved by being called sir and I was hoping our connection was deeper than such formalities. Not to mention you, my dear friend, tend to forget about this custom from time to time anyway. Therefore, if you are not entirely opposed to the idea, I would like for you to call me Kurt, from now on, when we are alone and there are no gossiping eavesdroppers around." Blaine was one step closer to responding (namely he was able to gape at the Duke), but still didn't quite manage to produce a sound. The Duke was watching him slightly warily now as he added, "Naturally that would mean I'd call you Blaine, if you were comfortable with that."

The Duke's words sinking in at last, Blaine smiled, but failed to meet his friend's eyes and hung his head instead, "I'd be honoured, Kurt."

"As would I, Blaine," the Duke, no, Kurt bowed his head ever so slightly to imitate Blaine. His raised eyebrow was a clear indication that he was mocking the other gentleman for his self-consciousness.

Their conversation was interrupted when Blaine's butler came in and drew their attention to the fact that Kurt's driver had been waiting for him for the past half an hour while they were chatting in the hallway. Eyes still glinting from their conversation, they bid each other goodnight and Blaine returned to the party.

Later, in bed, he realised he had been so dazed after Kurt's (his heart started beating faster at the use of the name) departure that he couldn't recall a single word that had been spoken to him afterwards. He was certain he had done nothing but watched the wall with a broad smile (how suitable for an aristocrat), but he had never felt so elated in his entire life. Kurt, the Duke of Gloucester, a member of the royal family enjoyed his company and sought his friendship willingly to the extent of requesting Blaine to call him by his first name! And he was even kind enough not to mention how Blaine had slightly drifted away from him this past month. The whole matter was almost unfathomable, but felt so excessively right at the same time. Blaine was sure he could not acquire those tickets a moment too soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello there! Some tough topics are coming up in this chapter and Blaine realises he has a lot to think about. We would love to hear your thoughts on that, so don't hesitate to leave a review, should you feel like it. Now enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own anything or anyone in this story. Even half the plot belongs to theevilqueen.  
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**Chapter 4**

Kurt was very nearly shaking with excitement as he stood on the corner of Craven Terrace and Bayswater Road, waiting for Blaine. Although he had reason to fear being recognised, he was confident that a not exceptionally well-dressed young man wouldn't catch anyone's eye, especially not if that particular someone was of any importance (and could be an acquaintance of his), so he felt nothing but the irresistible thrill of adventure.

He looked around; he knew he was far too early, but in order to avoid arousing suspicion, he had to stick to the plan he had established with Blaine and that included leaving the Palace at a reasonable time. A week prior to the performance, he and Blaine had agreed that Kurt would leave his home at a fairly early hour in the evening, stating that he was visiting Miss Pierce. After the carriage arrived at Bayswater, he would postpone entering the house of his female friend until the driver had, once again, set off, then he'd quickly walk away from the doorstep and wait for Blaine in an alley nearby. So far everything was going according to plan; Kurt was sure his family believed his cover-story, he was careful to slip away from the Pierce house unnoticed, therefore it was impossible for someone to realise he had less than respectable plans for the night.

An hour later, as he saw Blaine approaching, he attempted to readjust his relatively inelegant, ill-fitting clothes. Kurt felt terribly self-conscious knowing that, right now, he was far from looking his best and wished he hadn't been forced to leave his brand-new black coat in the carriage. Alas, he couldn't go exploring the secret depths of Soho and draw any attention to himself in his expensive jacket, so he simply promised himself that next time he and Blaine met, he would completely bedazzle him with his excellent taste in men's clothing and, until then, he'd be content just to spend time with his friend.

"You're looking very ordinary today, if I may say so," Blaine greeted him, wearing the happiest of smiles on his (in Kurt's opinion) irritatingly handsome face. "I doubt anyone could recognise you."

Kurt sighed inwardly; there was no way of resisting Blaine's charm and, unsurprisingly, he found himself grinning back as he answered, "You are a true friend to me, my dear sir, for you stab me in the front. I realise only now you are aware of my dedication to fashion and dressing me in shabby clothes is your way of torturing me out of spite."

Blaine had obviously recognised the quote from Oscar Wilde, since he replied with one himself, "Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."

"I cannot listen to such blasphemous words, Blaine; I regard fashion as art and as we all very well know, art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known."

At that Blaine's expression turned sincere. "I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being," he retorted, "and I'm thrilled to spend this evening at a theatre with you, Kurt."

Kurt's heart warmed immediately at such words. "Well, if we aren't the perfect audience, quoting the playwright before the performance already," he smiled, "Shall we?"

They started walking in the direction of Soho and quickly picked up the thread of their conversation again. "It had completely slipped my mind to ask you whether you were entirely comfortable attending this play tonight. With Oscar Wilde having been arrested for... what he's been arrested for," offered Blaine awkwardly.

Kurt had to suppress a deep sigh, recognising immediately where this discussion was headed. "Indeed," he hesitated, "but you needn't worry. I have no reservations about our outing. Mr. Wilde's imprisonment, while unpleasant, does not bother me in the least."

Blaine looked utterly astonished. "Surely you don't mean you condone it?"

_You could not imagine the extent to which I condone it_. Kurt shook his head ever so slightly; such thoughts were distractions and he couldn't afford to let his secret slip. Still, his heart clenched at the fact that he was forced to lie to his newfound friend. "No, I merely meant I was going to the theatre to enjoy a play and nothing else concerns me. Certainly not the reputation of Mr. Wilde or the nature of his alleged crimes."

The moment he finished the sentence, he knew he had phrased it in the worst possible way. "I admit I haven't followed his trial, but I know enough rumours to believe that there was nothing alleged in his actions. From what I've heard from my friends, he really had committed... revolting things."

Kurt kept his gaze fixed on the pavement until he felt calm enough to answer. "You are right, the evidence was fairly convincing," he replied. There was no sense in trying to defend Wilde, he was aware of it, nevertheless he couldn't blame himself for getting upset at hearing that all too familiar tone of judgement. "I have followed the trial. He happens t be an acquaintance of mine, you see, so of course I took interest in the case."

Blaine sent him a sympathetic look. "Then it's no wonder you can only think of his crimes as alleged ones. It really must be too horrible to think that he had probably looked at you _that way_. That he might have wanted to involve you in his sinful actions." He came to an abrupt halt and turned to face Kurt directly. "You must have been terribly shaken when all was unveiled!" he cried.

There really was no appropriate answer to such a remark, so Kurt merely averted his gaze and with a nod of his head urged them to continue their journey. His heart ached that only half an hour ago he had been filled with the thrill of true excitement and now all he wished for was some peace of mind. Whatever lingering hopes he had had of Blaine's preferences were long gone; he realised he had to accept the harsh fact that his friend would never become anything more, no matter how attractive he was in Kurt's eyes.

He sighed as they entered the old, shabby-looking theatre, wondering if he ought to try to bring up the subject again, later on. Wondering if he could bear once more to hear the devastatingly prejudiced opinion of someone he considered a friend.

"Anderson!" sounded a cry from their right. Kurt instantly identified the owner of the voice as a tall, neatly dressed gentleman with a skin colour that quite surprised him.

Blaine shook his hand at once. "Thompson. So good to see you again." He then turned to the Asian gentleman who approached them and watched Blaine extend his hand once more. "And Montgomery, of course. I hoped we'd meet tonight." With that he smiled at Kurt and went on to address him, "these are the friends who managed to secure us our respective tickets. Please allow me to introduce Wesley Montgomery and David Thompson. Gentlemen, this is... "

Kurt cut in before Blaine even had the chance to pause, smoothly finishing the sentence for him, "Kurt Hummel." He shot his friend a quick glance and prayed the other two hadn't caught the momentary look of surprise on Blaine's face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," he nodded at them while shaking their hands.

"You too, Mr. Hummel," said Mr. Montgomery. "Pray tell me, have you and Anderson been acquainted for long? Only he hadn't mentioned you before and I feel betrayed he never told me the news in his life."

Kurt observed with relief that apparently, his secret was safe with Blaine. "Judging from your indignation I shall conclude that you are the journalist friends Anderson spoke of?" he replied lightly, "And to answer your question no, we hadn't spoken a lot before, however we did go to school together. " As he turned towards him, he attempted to send a silent message to Blaine, who nodded back, seemingly understanding the delicacy of the situation. "And only got reacquainted a few weeks prior."

"A chance encounter, then," offered Mr. Thompson. At that moment, a bell chimed and Kurt exhaled slowly, eager to put an end to the conversation.

His mood only brightened more when Mr. Montgomery spoke again. "Well, I'm afraid this is our cue to separate. Anderson, Mr. Hummel," he nodded at them, "we shall be on the other side. Enjoy the show." Mr. Thompson parted with a firm handshake and a hurriedly added '_If you will excuse us'_.

Blaine presented their tickets and they swiftly took their seats. After the lights were put out and the curtains were drawn, Kurt felt a hot breath next to his ear. "Don't worry about making up any more stories, they'll probably leave during the intermission. They rarely stay for a second act." With that Blaine leaned back, not hearing his friend's breath hitch and not suspecting he had just successfully made up for all the discomfort he had caused that evening.

For Kurt couldn't carry on bearing him ill will, not when Blaine was so sweet at the same time; having the friends he had, being so attentive to Kurt, not minding getting close to him physically; these were all examples of a good, open heart and a respectable character. As the play went on, Kurt couldn't tear his thoughts away from him, even though the actors were nothing short of remarkable (quite unexpected, Kurt noted, for the theatre was a rather cheap place. Then again he knew he was far too partial because of Blaine's casual comments and their shared laughter to properly judge a performance). Nevertheless Kurt's attention never wavered from Blaine for more than a few minutes as he contemplated his next course of action.

It was perfectly clear to him that he ought not to give up on Blaine just yet, after all based on his best friends, the young man carried no unjust judgement in his heart. And if he believed in equality, if he welcomed and loved these foreign people, couldn't he grow to care for Kurt as well? Of course the time when Kurt could trust him with his most anxiously protected secret was still far away (he simply couldn't risk sharing it with Blaine too soon), however, Kurt saw no reason why it should never happen. And naturally, Kurt wouldn't speak of his feelings for Blaine specifically (let alone ask him to return them), only pointing out their natural direction. At first, anyway.

What quite saddened Kurt was, though, the way in which Blaine had addressed the whole issue. His tone wasn't reassuringly far from being hateful and disgusted, which was no promising start. Kurt felt compelled to sigh, to which Blaine reacted by turning to face him and proceeding to smile at him broadly. After his friend's attention was diverted back to the play, Kurt carried on conspiring.

What if he educated Blaine so slowly and inconspicuously that his friend never noticed what he was being subjected to? A casual comment here, an honest discussion there (strictly theoretical and religion-centred, for those arguments were the easiest to challenge) and he could gradually alter Blaine's view on the topic. He would undoubtedly have to be extremely patient, but it wasn't too high a price to pay.

The only aspect of the plan that was crucial (other than not revealing his secret before the confession was indeed due) was finding out Blaine's ability to change his mind without any delay. For if, by some dark and tragic miracle, Blaine was reluctant to alter his views in the most insignificant way possible, then Kurt faced an unconquerable obstacle which, perhaps, was not worth his time and effort. If, however, his friend proved to be resilient already, then really the only tools Kurt needed were patience and a bit of cunning; of the rest, Blaine's mind would take plenty care.

All in all, Kurt refused to feel worried just yet. He was certain he wouldn't accept defeat until forced to and he had great confidence in his friend's open mind and, perhaps, later on, in his affectionate heart.

"That was a most wonderful performance. I'm in complete awe," exclaimed Blaine as they were clapping. "What did you think? Did you not find it extraordinary?"

Kurt feared he couldn't suppress his smirk, but managed to tame it into a lopsided smile in time; how perfectly well it suited his plan that Blaine should turn to him for guidance, that he should await and rely on Kurt's opinion. Now he had to know how great his influence on Blaine was. "Well, it most certainly wasn't dull, however," he let his voice trail off and noticed with satisfaction that Blaine's face began to fall, "there were some aspects that I found slightly... lacking. Still, while I wouldn't call it extraordinary, I shall most confidently declare that I enjoyed every minute of it."

To Kurt's utter delight Blaine blushed, but never stopped smiling. "Yes, that is true. I'm only carried away by my excitement, but you are right in pointing out that it wasn't a flawless performance." From his expression it was clear as day to Kurt that his friend had no idea what flaws were supposed to be found, then again, neither did he, as he spent more time lost in his thoughts than watching the play. Nonetheless, he recognized that Blaine's abashed expression wasn't conveying his submission to a superior, but self-consciousness at his own enthusiasm and eagerness to appear sophisticated in the eyes of his friend.

Kurt felt quite light as they made their way back to Bayswater and chattered on about the play. Fortunately, because of his title he had learned (in order to avoid embarrassment) how to discuss a topic he actually had no substantial knowledge of, so he managed to keep up with Blaine. Before they reached their destination, however, he decided to change the subject to a more important one. "Speaking of the playwright, I have a confession to make," he stopped so they could face each other. "I'm quite certain I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you are my friend, you have my trust and this is an issue I wish to be able to discuss with you," he paused, ensuring he had his friend's undivided attention. "I am a very liberal thinker, Blaine. I detest tradition and religion and conservatism on the whole. I believe in progress and equality and while my rank often prevents me from doing so, I try to live my life according to these principles," he studied Blaine's face, "the roots of which are buried very deep within me."

"And that is why," he went on, "I do not judge Mr. Wilde the way most of the world does. Not because he was my friend – he was barely an acquaintance," he added, "or because I dote on his work, but because I don't feel bound by the rules of religion or any unwritten law, in fact. I firmly believe that everyone should do as they wish, as long as they don't cause any harm for others. And Mr. Wilde has never caused me, or any unwilling party as far as I know, any harm. Ever," he finished and looked into Blaine's eyes in order to not miss a single thought passing through them.

His friend seemed quite shocked at such a declaration, but nodded his head in understanding. "I can't pretend I'm not completely overwhelmed, but..." his eyes were wide, though not hostile, Kurt noticed. "I accept how you feel. God knows I condone much that others surely wouldn't and I... I'd like to think that I, as well, am a liberal through and through. I whole-heartedly support equality and all kinds of freedom and I suspect I don't have to convince _you_ to know how committed I am to progress," he whispered and Kurt's heart skipped a beat, for probably without realising it, Blaine had addressed him in a very intimate way and Kurt was touched that Blaine referred to their knowledge of each other as though it was so deep and thorough that they needed no explanations when talking in private. "So I would say we are of the same mind. My only reservation in this case lies within the fact that... I think it so wrong. I can't overlook it."

Kurt exhaled silently and glanced around to make sure no one could eavesdrop on them. "I am glad we agree on our principles. May I ask, though, why this lifestyle should bother you to such an extent?"

He was studying Blaine's face so intently that he noticed at once when his expression changed to uncomfortable. "I suppose it originates from religion. It is a sin, after all, which is the general cause of my diversion. But more than that I... you know I attended Eton and even though you yourself haven't studied there, I'm sure you aren't unfamiliar with the rumours," as soon as Kurt nodded he carried on talking, "Then you won't be surprised to hear that I have witnessed the truth of such gossip with my own eyes. And seeing it in the flesh is rather different than talking about it in principle."

"You mean I cannot grasp this issue fully because I don't possess any real experience and can only argue on a theoretical level?"

Blaine blinked very slowly in affirmation. "I don't mean it as an accusation of course. I'm happy you've never been subjected to such a disgraceful scene as public indecency. But I do so desperately wish you understood that having witnessed... _that_ leaves one with an opinion that is impossible to reverse."

Kurt did not know whether to feel triumph or despair. It was a most encouraging sign that Blaine didn't object to discussing the topic and that he was adamant on defending himself (seeing as passion could be redirected, whereas indifference could not), however, Kurt didn't expect Blaine to have dealt with any situation of the sort before, because someone who had had contact with homosexuality actually _could_ form a valid opinion. Could it be that Blaine had already explored all his options and decided against men for good?

"But no one has forced themselves on you, have they?" Blaine shook his head. "Then why would you let it upset you so greatly? Let them love each other if that pleases them. After all, one love is not inferior to another."

"It's not love they feel," Blaine cried, agitated, before he remembered to keep his voice down. "It's nothing more than an urge. They choose to sin and do it on display, as if to tempt those who are innocent, and that does harm others. Can you imagine the inner turmoil witnessing such a scene can cause? It's as if watching a man bleed to death, or worse yet, killing him directly; it's a horrifying experience that rips away the purity of the soul and I do not wish anyone to be forced to go through that."

Kurt felt the urge to reach out and offer his friend some comfort, as he so obviously was still struggling with his memories. Meanwhile, he also wanted to shout at him that it was anything but a choice, but reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to know any specific details. He scrambled to come up with another argument. "I can't know if it is a conscious decision or not," he whispered, despising every syllable of his untrue statement. "But I shall have to draw your attention to one fact; you, not unlike me, are also viewing this subject from afar." At Blaine's confused glance he added, "Imagine if your brother loved that way. Would you estrange him then? Would you burn a stigma in his skin and label him a sinner, a predator, and call him repulsive to his face?"

Kurt watched Blaine gulp as the silence dragged on. Slowly they resumed walking. His friend was studying his shoes now and Kurt had to strain his ears to catch his broken, stifled answer, "No. He's my brother and I could never... " he sighed, attempting to collect his thoughts, "I would hide it. I'd lie to deny it and, God help me, I'd probably even support him if he asked me to, but that makes it no smaller sin. I'd resent myself for helping him live a sinful life, but I couldn't bear the thought of him being alone, rejected... shunned."

"I shall not ask you to alter your views for me, Blaine," Kurt assured him and as he noticed they'd reached Miss Pierce's flat, he daringly took the young man's hand, initiating a gentle handshake. "And if this issue makes you uncomfortable in the least, then we shall never speak of it again. But please, remember what you are undoubtedly feeling right now and consider it later on. Don't feel obligated to tell me your conclusion, but promise me you won't forget."

"I promise. If this is matters to you that much, then you have my word."

"Very well," Kurt smiled. "Such a grave note to part on. Alas, I must leave, for the carriage is about to arrive and it would cause some awkwardness if my deception was discovered."

Blaine returned his smile as he asked, "Aren't you concerned that the driver will notice your clothes?"

"My plan is to take a hiding right outside the door and, upon my driver's arrival, act as if I had just left the house. If I descend the stairs at the right moment, the poor illumination will prevent him from recognizing this attire for the collection of rags it really is. Then, in the carriage, I shall put on my new coat that I deliberately left there, thus concealing the disgrace of having spent my evening at Soho instead of in the company of Miss Pierce."

"Excellent plan, Your Highness," bowed Blaine and they both burst into laughter, exhausted by the tension from before. When they noticed a carriage appearing at the far end of the road, Kurt turned to Blaine again.

"I'll bid you goodnight, then."

"Please wait," Blaine called out, "Why Hummel? What does that name mean to you?"

Kurt looked back as he replied, "It's too long a story to properly explain now, but I shall tell you, I promise." With that he disappeared into the shadows and only managed to shoot a quick glance at Blaine from the carriage as he was driving past him.

**A/N: Yes, in the next chapter Burt finally makes an appearance.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi, we're back! I'm very sorry for not updating sooner, it was completely my fault, theevilqueen was brilliant - I was writing something else, then finals started (although, apparently, I shouldn't have bothered learning, seeing as it had all been in vain) and now that I've finally stopped eating ice cream out of tubs (yes, it's plural), I realized I really should be drowning my sorrow in fanfiction, not sugar. Eh... On the upside, I finally figured out how to use these line breaks, so my mood's improving!**

**Anyway, I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter. We tried to mix the slower pace of a serious conversation with a light, bit cliffhanger-y ending and maybe it's an epic fail (I'm too biased to tell), so feel free to comment on it. By the way, we're very open to wishes and requests, so if you'd like to see something in this universe, don't hesitate to PM us; we've got the story planned out, but there's always room for new ideas!**

**Disclaimer: After this whole uncathartic catfish-fetish the writers had going on, I'm not so disappointed I don't own Glee.**

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**Chapter 5**

Kurt and Blaine were sitting on a bench at St James's Park, conversing quietly. Although it was already October, the sun was shining brightly and the wind still hadn't become chilly enough to chase away the idle couples scattered on the grass. Having spent the entire morning at the park, Blaine had already observed all the various scenarios people could be found in on such a refreshing day; friends taking a stroll together, newlyweds laying down blankets to sit on, a group of students leading some moderate discussion in the shadow of an enormous tree.

During a short lull in their conversation, Blaine's gaze fell back on Kurt and himself, positioned on the secluded bench, partially hidden by the bushes from curious eyes. As he once again turned to face him, he soaked in his friend's gentle smile. "I can recall you promising me a story."

A warm feeling rushed through him when Kurt started to answer without needing further clarification; their closeness of the mind pleased him every time he witnessed it. "Fair enough," he sighed exasperatedly, but Blaine could see his annoyance was faked, for his eyes were gleaming. "I chose, or rather was offered, this name by a man, Burt Hummel, whom I met four years ago," he began, but quickly changed his tone. "But I suppose I'd better start at the beginning.

"You probably aren't aware of my usual behaviour at home, since you've never had the opportunity to witness it, therefore I should make it clear to you right away; I have a few... quirks, as my family likes to say, which the common man might find odd, but I'm certain shan't come to you as a surprise.

"Such a habit is my love for cooking. I am unfamiliar with its origin and I can't explain why I find it a thoroughly enjoyable exercise, nevertheless half a decade ago I discovered I took great pleasure in baking cakes and preparing meals and have become a frequent guest at our kitchen ever since. Our cook, Mrs. Hudson was a respectable, kind-hearted woman and although she was usually very busy, she always managed to make some time for me," Blaine watched his friend's expression turn nostalgic and observed his cheeks tinting with a slight blush as he went on, "I believe she was nice to me because her son is of my age and maybe I reminded her of Finn." Blaine suspected Kurt was embarrassed by the motherly affection Mrs. Hudson must have shown towards him, for his face was now flaming red. "But, um, let us not discuss Finn. We were never really friends, only... it was a long time ago, anyway."

He cleared his throat, "Yes, so, I was on excellent terms with Mrs. Hudson and it was through her that I got better acquainted with Burt. He was a driver. You see, some American millionaire who came to England insisted on bringing his chauffeur along and he also decided to rent a royal carriage in which he wished to roam the streets of London. We all found this rather peculiar, both down- and upstairs, alas my family held no objections. In the end this American driver, Burt Hummel arrived at the Palace to pick up an old and very unimportant vehicle and well," he smiled, "he ran into me as he came in (through the servants' door, of course) to ask for a glass of water. I don't suppose he knew at all who I was, for even though I was dressed rather nicely, I led him to the kitchen and served him myself." Blaine felt stunned to hear about his friend's actions, but reminded himself that Kurt had told him before how dedicated a supporter he was of equality. "And in the kitchen I introduced him to Mrs. Hudson. Evidently," he hurriedly added, "there is no Mr. Hudson, I believe he had died at war a very long time ago.

"They immediately got along marvellously and Burt started coming over more and more as the weeks passed. He spent many hours talking with Mrs. Hudson, he met Finn and eventually, due to all the time I spent downstairs, he got to know me as well. You may imagine my relief when, after having discovered who I was, he carried on treating me the same; not once had he implied that he saw me in a different light because of my title. For instance, when we first met, not knowing my name, he called me 'son' and even later, when no attention was being paid to us, he kept addressing me that way," explained Kurt fondly.

Blaine could only listen quietly, his gaze never leaving Kurt's face - so tranquil and pensive. As he looked into his friend's eyes he noticed a greenish shade to them that he had failed to observe before. He couldn't help but draw the conclusion that as strange as it seemed, Kurt's eyes held the ability to change their colour. He couldn't quite comprehend how that was even possible, alas he had noticed his friend's blue eyes the first time they met, and later on witnessed them turning grey. And now they were undoubtedly green. It was unfathomable. Suddenly the thought struck Blaine that in spite of being a man, Kurt was a most stunning creature, inside and out.

"About two month into our acquaintance he happened upon the kitchen when Mrs. Hudson was elsewhere. You see, my family had gone on an excursion and most of the staff was allowed to take leave for the day. As for myself, I was compelled to stay at home for I had had a terrible headache the day before and even though I was already recovered, my family insisted I stay at home and rest. After a while I reached the end of my patience and left my nurse (she had a most smothering nature, which of course collided with the taste of the young boy I was) and headed to the kitchen to drink some tea and regain my composure.

"I cannot recall where all the kitchen staff was. I suspect they were helping with the cleaning, perhaps, for the kitchen is never supposed to be completely empty. Alas, after the servants' entrance opened, I found myself alone with Burt. It was... odd," he hesitated, "he appeared to be in very good health. I remember him asking about me and my... life, I suppose."

_Mr. Hummel slowly took a seat and accepted the cup of tea, pronouncing the words with his heavy American accent._

_"So, why is this place almost deserted, son? Shouldn't the million servants be running around and nagging Mrs. Hudson?"_

_Kurt sat down opposite him, glad for the refreshing company, "They all left. My family is gone on an excursion, hence the quiet. Only a few of us remained here."_

_"And what will you eat, then? Or are you here to starve?"_

_Kurt laughed; talking with Mr. Hummel unwaveringly proved to be a terribly easy task. "I'm not feeling all that well, so the doctor recommended only tea and light meals."_

_"Some doctors you have here," Mr. Hummel chewed on the piece of cake placed before him, "They say you're unwell, so you shouldn't eat. But how can you get your strength back if you're hungry? That will do nothing but set back your recovery, son; mark my words."_

_An interesting thought, indeed. Kurt contemplated the possible truth behind it. "Perhaps they suspect my stomach might not be able to handle a heavy meal yet. After all, should my condition improve, I could always eat tomorrow. And then why upset my stomach today?"_

_Mr. Hummel smirked at him. "You don't need to travel far for a bit of wit, do you? But you're right, son; a bit of second-guessing every now and then is nev... " he abruptly fell silent and brought a hand to his chest. Kurt was alarmed immediately and hurriedly jumped up to offer his services._

_"Mr. Hummel! Mr. Hummel, are you unwell? Shall I call the doctor?"_

"He collapsed and lost consciousness," explained Kurt calmly. "You might imagine how I felt. I was scared beyond belief, dreading he might have died. I shouted for help and, when none came, ran to find Dr. Noscowitz as if my life depended on it. " His expression turned grave, "Later I was informed that had I not acted as quickly, he would have passed away."

Blaine's stomach clenched painfully, "But you saved his life. You managed to find help." He had never looked up to Kurt as much as in that moment.

"Everyone seemed to think so, but I doubt I had done much. I was so relieved when the doctor told me he was going to be all right," Blaine thought he heard Kurt's voice tremble, but didn't wish to draw attention to it. "He was brought to the butler's room and I stayed by his side all day. Fortunately, he woke up soon enough, but he needed a lot of rest. We talked through the entire evening and he thanked me. He claimed he owed me his life. He was, of course, mistaken, nevertheless he expressed his gratitude and requested I address him as Burt from then on. Needless to say I gladly accepted." He looked up into Blaine's eyes, "It felt only natural, for I'm certain you can guess how this entire predicament would lead to a connection between two people. In the following months, we carried on conversing whenever we could; about America, his employer, my studies and obligations... Finn." Kurt sighed before turning away, "I believe he wanted me to befriend the young Mr. Hudson, to come to view him as a brother."

"How come?"

Kurt hung his head as he answered, his lashes casting a long, thick shadow upon his face in the decreasing light, "I don't particularly take pride in that part of the tale, but... you are too kind to judge me very severely. That said," he smiled a regretful, sorrowful smile," you surely remember how I described the growing attachment between Burt and Mrs. Hudson?" Acknowledging Blaine's nod with one of his own, he went on, "Well, it reached a level where he started considering Finn a son of his own and he wanted us to get along as brothers, for he held great affection for me. Alas I... I was terribly jealous. By then I had almost monopolised Burt's attention and looked to him as a son would look to his father. I had my own family, of course, but my closeness with Burt was something I had come to cherish and hence I felt threatened by Finn. I despised the thought of Burt showing Finn the same wise, honest guidance I'd previously thought he reserved only for me. I never resorted to besmirching Finn's character for the sake of preventing their tighter bonding, however, I did spend every moment I could with Burt and refused to discuss any topic even vaguely related to the Hudsons.

"After a while, I suspect when he grew weary of my selfishness, Burt confronted me. You should have heard him, Blaine; he was so gentle and understanding... something my father had never been," Blaine flinched at such a comment; as Kurt didn't even pause, however, he came to the conclusion his friend probably didn't realise who he was criticising – not any father, but one who possessed the respect and fear of the whole world. The future king. "He kept reassuring me that he would always consider me a true son and even if he shall have to travel back to America, he will never lose contact with me," Blaine couldn't be sure (since Kurt had slightly turned away from him), but he suspected Kurt was on the verge of crying. "He didn't owe me anything. He didn't owe me his life and I never considered him indebted to me and yet he reached out to me and took an interest in my life..." Kurt swallowed, attempting to regain his composure, "I still remember his every word."

_"Son, it's unfair how you're treating them. Just imagine how it'd make you feel if the three of us left you out and you remained alone. Mrs. Hudson cares for you very much and Finn sees you as a brother already and I know they want the four of us to spend time together. Not you and me or the two of them and me separately, but all of us talking and eating together."_

_Kurt sniffled discreetly, "But, Burt, it's not exactly the same. I know... that is, I suspect you'll be taking them along upon returning to America. You have your entire lives as a family ahead of you, whereas I must remain here. Alone and abandoned."_

_Burt smiled gently and touched his shoulder as h responded, "Listen, Kurt. I can't use these fancy phrases like you can, but I know that even when we leave, you'll not be abandoned. Sure, it might take a while for us to see each other again, but we'll keep in touch. You are a part of my family now. You're an honorary Hummel," he chuckled, "and that means when we meet again, things will be exactly the same as now. And in the meantime, we're going to write letters and send Christmas presents to one another. And I promise you that when you come visit, you'll stay with us, because you'll always have a home in my house. Is that all right?"_

_Kurt nodded silently and shook Burt's offered hand. "I can accept that."_

"He left not very long after that, in the company of Mrs. Hudson and Finn. The wedding had been only a few days before their departure," Kurt turned to Blaine, grinning whole-heartedly now, "I helped plan the ceremony, for Mrs. Hudson was far too busy to manage it alone. It was rather spectacular, if I do say so myself. Even though not many people were invited."

Blaine laughed along. "I'm sure all the lucky guests could tell it was no ordinary wedding."

"Indeed. I must say I am, without a doubt, an excellent planner when it comes to ceremonies as such. Simply marvellous."

Blaine ignored his heartbeat, which was quickly gathering place. "Divine, I'm sure."

They burst out laughing and Kurt needed a few moments before he was composed enough to continue their conversation. "Anyway, we've been corresponding ever since. I can't wait to see them again. In fact, I'm considering accepting their invitation to stay with them for a few weeks in the spring. It would be so very nice to spend some uninterrupted time together again," he mused.

Blaine knew it was time for him to pose the question he had long since wished to ask. He mustered up all his courage, but to his horror, as he opened his mouth he could still feel his cheeks heating up. "Erm, I was wondering, incidentally, if you would... if it isn't too forward of me... of course only if you're not otherwise engaged," he stammered, cursing himself for his shyness. He cleared his throat, which had gone terribly dry. "I wanted to invite you to my brother's wedding in January. And, while we're at it, I was hoping you would spend the winter at Immingham with me. With my family," he amended, his face bright red.

Kurt, however, didn't seem embarrassed or surprised at all as he immediately exclaimed, "Oh my, that is a wonderful idea. Thank you, I'm honoured. I would love to see your home. But," he added, watching Blaine from the corner of his eyes, "I hope you know I'll be expecting constant entertainment, comfort and the general treatment a royalty deserves. I shan't settle for half-hearted attempts."

"I assure you Brocklesby House will be thoroughly prepared for you," Blaine answered, relieved his invitation hadn't been turned down; he had already started planning their vacation. "You could arrive after Christmas and stay as long as you want to."

Kurt looked him in the eyes and Blaine's breath, once again, caught in his throat. "You could probably finish with your colourful Christmas lights by then, couldn't you? I long to see them on a tree. Assuming you won't be taking your tree down for a few weeks."

Blaine blinked rapidly, desperately trying to clear his head. Relief was one thing, but he shouldn't be this affected by a friend visiting him. Even if it involved Kurt, which made the situation incomparable to any other of the sort. "Yes, of course, I'll show it you, Kurt. I'm very interested in your opinion. Besides, I understand you're curious about your own idea in practice."

"It was _our_ idea, Blaine," Kurt replied, stressing the pronoun. "Consequently, I would be thrilled to see its result."

"Very well. I will write home to let my parents know. I'm really happy, too, of course," he said as they stood up, preparing to leave the park. He was aware it was high time they went their separate ways (it was late in the evening, after all), and yet he couldn't resist shaking Kurt's hand for a second too long and adding, "I'm very... so very glad to have met you. I know we will still see each other before Christmas, even tonight, now that I think about it, but I'm already looking forward to your arrival at Brocklesby House." With a genuine, shared smile, they parted ways.

Blaine felt splendid. As he made his way home, he couldn't stop thinking about his luck in meeting Kurt; such an intelligent, witty, generous man. And what a gentle, caring soul he had, if his story about Burt Hummel was any indication. Without a doubt Blaine knew he had found a soul mate – a man whose temper was so similar to his own, whose thoughts matched his every opinion, who held the power to brighten his day with his mere presence. He has never even dared to dream of finding such a good friend.

Upon entering the Anderson house, he headed straight for the library in order to pass the time until he could meet Kurt again. He tried to recall who was hosting the ball his family was supposed to attend, but he was far too distracted to succeed. He went to the far shelf where the books his father despised were placed and reached for The Picture of Dorian Gray. Completely engrossed, he soon forgot about their engagement completely.

"Why the merry mood, old chap?"

For a second, Blaine was startled, then noticed his brother standing next to him wearing a disbelieving expression. He quickly closed the magazine and forced his face to remain blank."Cooper. I didn't know you were home. How was your day?"

Cooper glanced at him curiously, "How was yours? You seem unusually jolly. What have you been up to all day?"

Blaine tried to appear nonchalant, eager to avoid any interrogation. "I took a walk in St James's Park. I would have thought you'd be doing the same seeing as the air is still relatively warm and you love wandering around," he made a deliberately vague gesture. As his eyes settled on Cooper, he realized at once he had spent too much time reading and instantly stood up.

"I was here preparing for Russell Fabray's dinner party. Earl of Suffolk?" he explained at Blaine's confused expression. "As should you, by the way; we'll be leaving shortly," Cooper followed Blaine out of the study and Blaine heard him run after him up the stairs. "Don't tell me you forgot, Blaine, Father is going to fret. They want to introduce you to Quinn Fabray, the only daughter. Although I wonder why, that girl is so snobby she will certainly not steep to our level." He vented as he watched Blaine scramble to find suitable clothes for the occasion.

Blaine frowned as he struggled with his tie, clearly in a hurry, "Cooper, we are wealthy enough as it is, I don't think she'll object to meeting me. But it doesn't matter, as I don't have the slightest intention of asking for her hand."

Cooper tossed him his dress shoes at the exact same moment their father called for them. "Only a moment, Father," Cooper shouted downstairs, then returned to the full-size mirror where Blaine was frantically trying to attach his cufflinks. "You're lucky, old chap, I told Father half an hour ago you were in your room getting dressed. Maybe we have a few seconds before he marches up here and murders us."

"Thank you, Cooper," Blaine could finally start taming his hair while Cooper finished helping him with his clothes. "I'll forever be in your debt."

Cooper ignored his sarcasm. "I really thought you were here. I keep forgetting about your obsession with books. Anyway, it may be for the best you don't care for Miss Fabray; rumour has it she has her sights set on someone else; your dear friend the Duke."

"What?" Blaine cried, rather loudly.

Cooper raised his eyebrows, "I beg your pardon? Were you too busy strolling under the trees with the very man to hear?"

Blaine turned towards the mirror to hide his blush and inspect his attire for the last time. He had never gotten dressed so quickly. "We weren't strolling. And he never mentioned he was about to get married." _Whyever would he accept an invitation to Immingham if he was courting a lady in London?_

"Perhaps he doesn't know yet," Cooper guessed with fake indifference colouring his voice as they left Blaine's room and climbed into their carriage, lowering his voice so their parents would not overhear them. "I mean it would be stunning if he didn't tell you, considering you spend every waking moment together. The only reasonable conclusion is that he's still unaware of his prospects." He smirked as Blaine sent him an indignant glance, irritated by his brother's nonchalance. "Come on, use your head, Blaine. You two are together all the time. If he were courting her, he'd be parading around Town with Miss Fabray, beauty of London, not Blaine Anderson, second son of some earl in the countryside. Obviously nothing is going on."

Blaine immediately felt calmer, reassuring himself that Kurt had not kept such a huge secret from him after all. That would have offended him, Kurt not trusting him enough to share his plans and prospects with him. While they were exiting the carriage, he glanced at Cooper; it never ceased to amaze him that his brother, who never read a book willingly and wasn't, altogether, a very smart or cunning person, could have such a firm grip on everyday situations like this.

Once inside the Fabray House, he instantly started looking for Kurt; he didn't much feel like chatting with anyone but him and he intended to postpone his inevitable introduction to Miss Fabray as long as possible, too. Hence he passed acquaintances, ignored friendly greetings and looked right through the rich decorations and his heart only seemed to settle when he spotted those glasz eyes across the room.

Before he even had the chance to greet him, Kurt started talking, appearing rather distressed, "Let's go out in the terrace, shall we? I don't particularly like this room, I think I need some fresh air."

Blaine let himself be pulled, awkwardly trailing behind his friend, in their hurry noticing no one but a tall, beautiful Spanish girl with a furious expression on her face glaring at the two of them as they stumbled through the crowd.

* * *

**A/N: I know there wasn't much Burt in it, but he'll be coming back later. In the next chapter, we'll be following Kurt and we'll find out all about Santana. Review, if you feel like it!**


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